


Rumpelstiltskin

by SickSiren



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, alchemy + magic are lowkey mixed so think some fae rules 4 magic here, mei and ling learning how to be siblings is more likely than u think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23815198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SickSiren/pseuds/SickSiren
Summary: Very, very loosely inspired by Rumpelstiltskin.Ling needs help becoming emperor and turns to an alchemist to do so.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Ling Yao
Comments: 20
Kudos: 103





	Rumpelstiltskin

**Author's Note:**

> im gay so i cant read and couldnt proofread this

“Wizard?”

“Alchemist, actually.” The man said, straightening at his desk.

Few dared to make the journey out to the strange hut. It was decorated with stone stags caught in the jaws of iron lions, waiting to take a bite of your ankles. Twisted, amber serpents waited in the grass where they’d constrict around you and keep you from ever leaving.

Ling, however, was a desperate man.

Still, he couldn’t help his own superstitions, stepping over a coiled snake to get closer to the blond.

“I’ve come to ask a boon of you,” he started, planting his feet a few yards away from the alchemist. The desk was a mess of half made sculptures and peculiar creations.

“Is that so?” He sighed, pushing his hair out of his face. “Let’s hear it, then.”

“I am twelfth in line as emperor of Xing.”

“I can’t make you king.” He scoffed, already turning away. “Sorry, I can’t transmute your personality into something palatable.”

There was a difference between emperor and king, he thought bitterly, but didn’t say. “That’s not what I’m asking. I’ve come because I need to impress the current emperor, in hopes of being declared his successor.”

“And? How do you plan to do that?” The man asked, clearly bored by the affairs of royalty.

“What else could nobility want, but gold?” He smiled humorlessly. “Of which, I have very little myself.”

“Gold.”

… That wasn’t a question.

The man stared at him a few moments longer before rolling his eyes. “Come up with something interesting and we can talk.”

“Oh? Not creative enough on your own?”

The alchemist’s hands stilled above his paper, slowly turning to face Ling’s sharp grin.

He had been warned of the alchemist’s fiery temper. That he’d as soon turn you into a frog as let you insult him.

He could only hope he was provoking him in the right direction.

“Gloves.” He says suddenly in the abrupt silence of Ling’s accusation. He hadn’t noticed before, but it was as if all the noise of the forest had stopped. “It’ll have to be… no, that’s too complex for someone who can’t perform alchemy…”

Soon, the paper in front of him was covered in a variety of circles, none of which Ling had any hope of understanding.

The alchemist clapped his hands and the paper folded, pushing itself into a fine cloth that matched with Ling’s vest, fingerless and lined with a striking blue accent. Small studs of gold joined the knuckles, formed from the crushed graphite of the man’s pencil.

Ling was in awe, watching as the man’s nimble hands–one bright gold, the other flesh–shifted the world and held out the accessory to him.

“What do you want in return?” He questioned, not yet making a move to take the gloves.

He hesitated, and then smiled. “I suppose a challenge was enough of an exchange. Take your gloves. They’ll let you turn straw into gold.”

“Is that what you did to your hair?” Ling asked, taking it from his hands before he could change his offer. “It looks beautiful in this light.”

The man flushed and turned his head. “Not all of me is metal.”

“Shame,” Ling laughed. “Gold is a good color on you.”

“Again?” The alchemist asked, raising an eyebrow as Ling returned to his hut, gloves held in hand.

“I just thought you should know,” the prince began in the breeziest of lies. “The emperor was very impressed.”

“Yet, you hold the gloves as though they’ve burned you.” He observed, to Ling’s shame.

“It's no insult to you,” he promised, tucking the gloves away in his vest’s pockets. “But I am still one of many heirs.”

“The twelfth, was it?”

“Now the eleventh.”

The alchemist stilled, pity in his eyes. “What happened?”

“Well, my demonstration was perhaps the only non-violent one.” Ling admitted, a sad smile gracing his face.

“It's good you lived.” The alchemist stuttered for a moment shaking his head and settling for vehemently looking away. “I’d hate for those gloves to go to waste.”

“Speaking of,” Ling segued, presenting a shining necklace made from spun gold.

Edward was ready to retort that he wouldn’t accept a vanity item in turn for magic, much less one made using his own creation, when he spotted the dangling rubies carefully looped into the weave.

“What do you want?” He asked, throat dry as he wrapped his fingers around the jewelry. He didn’t yet take it, waiting for the prince’s demand.

“An arm, like yours.” He explained, his face far more grave than his previous visit. “Preferably, something… something dark in color, with a wicked blade.”

The alchemist swallowed, but didn’t ask. “It will be done.” He promised, taking the necklace. “Come back in two days time, with the one who needs it.”

“Do you need help?”

“What?” He scrunched up his nose, halfway to glaring at the man. “What would I need help with?”

“Putting on the necklace. I understand the clasps can be quite tricky.” Ling’s lips twitched upwards at his confusion and the alchemist couldn’t find it in himself to be outraged. Amusement, he decided, was something that suited Ling. Not the somber expression he wore today.

“I see no reason not to.” He shrugged, turning his back to the other and letting the gold be draped around his neck. It was a stark contrast to his edgy outfit, but…

“It goes well with your eyes,” Ling murmured, close to his ear.

“I thought it was my hair you were comparing to gold?”

The clasp clicked together, Ling’s hands lingering on his neck before he stepped away.

“That, too.”

Ling was surprised to find the alchemist in the company of a strong blonde woman, who was speaking to him quietly outside.

He put a protective hand on Lan Fan’s shoulder, guiding her through the garden of snakes with steely determination.

“Alchemist,” he greeted. “I apologize for interrupting.”

“No apology needed. My friend here is going to help yours with her new arm.” He nodded to Lan Fan and gestured to the chair he pulled away from his table. “Please, sit.”

“I’ll fit you with the cuff,” the woman explained, gently probing the scarring of her arm. “It's quicker with magic, but a full recovery may take the better part of a year.”

“I won’t be completely incapable, will I?” She worried, but kept a remarkably straight face. “I have duties to attend to.”

“Just don’t push yourself.” She sighed. “I know better than to ask you do nothing at all. should you be in need of repairs, come find me at the Rockbell’s smithery. I cannot promise a costless visit, but I hear you’ll have no need of charity.” She turned her gaze to Ling. “The gloves he made are as you hoped, I trust?”

“You’re right to have faith in his abilities.” He turned his grin to the alchemist, weak, but buoyed by the promised prosthetic. “They’re spectacular.”

The alchemist gulped, but held eye contact, returning a small smile as he slowly uncased a simple port of black metal.

“It’s an alloy made with cold iron.” The alchemist explains. “No magic will twist or blemish it and you will be able to nullify magic with a touch.”

“It complicates installing it,” the woman continued. “But the magic should travel through the internal gold shaft. It is a weak point, but you should have fine motor control and a fair sense of the pressure you’re exerting.”

“Lan Fan,” Ling said quietly, walking to her and clasping her good shoulder. “You’ll never be without a weapon again.”

“True,” the alchemist smirks, biting back a laugh. “You won’t be unarmed now.”

Ling barks out a sharp laugh, shaking his head at the man. “Are you a magician or a comedian?”

“Neither,” he scoffs. “I’m an alchemist.”

Lan Fan was sore after the hour long affair of connecting her shoulder to her arm, no matter how many days passed after it. Despite the short week or so she’d been without, she still marveled at the weight, at the twitch of her fingers.

And yet…

“It may be unwise to rely on an alchemist.” She voiced, her unwavering loyalty to Ling allowing her to speak her mind. He would not fault her for this. “Their rumored trickery aside, I would loathe to learn that we had become incapable since being coddled by impossible things.”

“Clearly not impossible.” Ling quipped, flexing his hands in his gloves.

“It’s a target on our backs.” She paused, hating her next words. “And upon the alchemist’s.”

Ling stilled, guilty. The man had nothing to do with the politics of Xing, but it was true that his siblings would not see it that way.

“You may be right.” He admitted, falsely relaxed. “No one knows where we received these, though. It's in our best interest to keep it that way.”

“Of course, young lord.” She agreed, bowing her head. She had to trust that Ling had taken her words to heart or, at the very least, that he would take more precaution in visiting the alchemist.

“How is your arm? Does it hurt?”

“Fits like a glove.” She smiled, relishing in Ling’s surprised laughter. “The Rockbell girl, Winry, has been quite helpful. She gave me an ointment to soothe the stump and a brush to remove fine particles from the mechanisms.”

“I trust she’s been paid?” Ling asked good naturedly, wiggling his gloved fingers.

“Of course.” Lan Fan tilted her head in consideration. “Perhaps an extra reward is in order. It never hurts to have one more on the side of the Yao clan.”

Or two, Ling thought, missing the alchemist terribly despite the few number of days it had been since they last met.

“So,” Ling started conversationally, leaning over the counter. “What deal did you make with our dear alchemist?”

Winry paused in her work on Lan Fan’s arm. The alchemist may have been able to create the masterpiece, but it still needed detailed adjustments for Lan Fan as her frequent fighting had already worn it down.

A limb was not something that could be easily replaced, after all. Not after hours of crying and screaming until a boy’s blood ran gold.

“There was a deal, of sorts. I am his friend and, in exchange, he is mine.”

She continued tightening a screw while Ling longed for the simplicity of the statement. As long as he needed something from the alchemist, he could never expect such a relationship from him.

He wouldn’t use the alchemist’s friendship for a favor. No, he’d simply have to find a reason to visit and something worthwhile to trade.

Ling picked his way through the forest path, religiously avoiding the snake sculptures sprinkled across the path. He knew them all by heart.

Which is why a strange sparkle in the grass caught his attention.

He picked up the metal gauntlet, steel compared to the alchemist’s gold, with no small amount of confusion as he progressed towards the hut.

“Oh!” A tinny voice came from behind him and Ling turned to see a tall metal golem trying to appear diminutive despite his size. “There it is! May I please have my hand back?”

“Your…” Ling shook his head, putting it down to one of many of the alchemist’s hut’s oddities. “Of course, here you go.”

“Thank you, I dropped it earlier and have been looking for it ever since.” He made quick work of replacing his hand and immediately reached out for Ling to shake it. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Alphonse.”

“My name is Ling,” he replied, shaking the cold metal hand with his own. “How do you lose a hand?”

“Fetch.” Alphonse said, unfortunately serious and despondent. “I also lost the dog.”

“Would you like my help looking for it?” Ling offered, because this day was already weird enough.

“Oh! Would you? It was a little dog, black and adorable with big ears and a curly tail and such small legs!” Alphonse sighed almost dreamily. “I hope I didn’t scare it away.”

“I’m certain you didn’t,” Ling replied with no small amount of relief. “The dog you’re describing is known as Black Hayate. It fears nothing as it is the pet of a soldier by the name of Hawkeye.”

“That’s good.” Ling imagines if Alphonse had a face, he would be smiling. “Really good.”

“Al?” The alchemist calls out, stepping warily from his dilapidated hut.

“Brother! I made a friend!” Al explained, gesturing to Ling.

“That’s nice.” He smiled softly, nodding at Ling. “It's good to see you again. What are you here for?”

Ling almost forgot the answer, before quickly spitting out his desire.

“I’ve come with a request that is not for myself.” He swallowed thickly. “I believe Winry would like to see you more often.”

“Oh?” The alchemist raises an eyebrow. “What are you offering in exchange?”

“Something in return for seeing a dear friend? You wound me, for this is not the kind of quest you ask an award for.” It was, perhaps, a touch dramatic as Ling clutched his chest. Still, his heart beat wildly in his chest. He had no real reason to be here, and nothing real to give in return. He could only hope the rules did not apply to Winry.

“For her, maybe. For you, though?” He gave a vicious grin. “Put your money where your mouth is.”

“Ed!” Alphonse exclaimed, scandalized.

“What could you possibly want?” Ling pouted, crossing his arms.

“Come with me.” He jerked his head towards the hut, leading Ling with little regard towards the sculptures Ling still avoided. The moment the door shut, the alchemist turned to him. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For speaking with my brother. Few would regard him as kindly as you do and it quickly becomes lonely here.”

Ling’s ribs hurt with a deep sympathy towards the man and he couldn’t resist comforting him with a gentle hand on one shoulder. “People may be kinder than you think. If you ever come closer to the city, I give you my word you’ll have my protection.”

The alchemist was startled into laughter, clapping a hand over Ling’s wrist. “I promise you I won’t need it,” he paused, meeting his eye with a soft expression. “Still. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

The place the alchemist’s hand had rested was warm for several days afterwards.

To think, Ling started the day happy.

It was a good morning when a sibling quietly announced that they would no longer be competing for the title of emperor.

He was third in line, making Ling the tenth now.

One less death, he thought, grinning as he caught sight of the sculpted snake wrapped around the prince’s ankle.

The alchemist was a wonder.

That was, of course, this morning.

“Clearly,” the Chang heir hisses in between quick jabs. “If the alchemist isn’t a weak point,” he blocked a blow aiming for his chest, but opened himself up to a harsh hit to his stomach with her blade that sent him stumbling back. “I’ll just have to take you out.”

“Which one are you even?” Ling huffed, annoyed by his apparent sister. With only, what, eighteen siblings total? She must have been farther back in line than him.

He was oddly flattered he was considered a true competitor.

She swept a foot towards his ankles, but he had regained his balance and took the opportunity to grab her wrist and disarm her. She wrenched her hand away, leaping back with ease.

Ling didn’t dare look over to see how Lan Fan’s own fight was going.

The Chang heir deftly switched to kunai, taking a long distance approach, a perfect counter to Ling’s preferred close range fighting style.

His attempts to rush her were delayed by flying kunai, each missing him by a hair. He had to focus on dodging, not advancing, until she quickly turned on him, forcing him to step backwards as she started kicking him.

He deflected a blow towards his shoulder and even managed to grab her ankle during her next attack, but she twisted out of the way and kicked him hard in the chest.

He fell backwards, catching a brief glance of the clear sky before his vision was obscured by sparks.

Kunai surrounded his head like a halo.

A dark metallic arm plucked up a kunai and returned it to its sender. The sparks evaporated with her arm’s cold iron build, giving her enough time to drag Ling up.

Ling attempted a fighting stance, but…

His stomach hurt. He pressed a hand to it, his heartbeat roaring in his ears, hoping he was hungry and exhausted and anything but the bloody mess that smeared across his palm.

“We have to go.” Lan Fan hissed, dragging him away from the road. Others watched and would surely spread gossip about the Yao clan’s defeat.

He grit his teeth, hoping it wouldn’t end his competing for the throne.

He couldn’t question where Lan Fan was dragging him. He leaned heavy against her side as she rushed away from civilization. He was weak. Anyone would take the chance to kill an heir for an in with another.

Anyone who was involved with Xingese politics.

“Wait, what if we’re followed?” He forced out, breathing hard as the pain started catching up to him. His stomach burned fiercer with every step until he wanted to lay down on the dirt path and wait for it to go away.

“Your alchemist can protect himself, he’s proven.” She grunted, but Ling knew she was just as concerned.

So concerned, she didn’t notice as Ling’s foot fell into the coil of a snake.

She tugged him along, unaware of his shocking realization that he could step through the snakes instead of dancing around them.

“Alchemist!” She called out the moment she hit the clearing, pushing Ling towards the hut when she didn’t receive an answer. She knocked on the door, relying on the wall to support Ling more so than herself, before she called out again. “Alchemist!”

“Lan Fan?” He asked, the door sliding open. “Shit. Bring him inside.”

“Can you help him?”

“Lan Fan, I won’t have you incur a debt on my behalf.” He protested, shoving her hands away as he laid down on one of the admittedly nice beds. “What do you want in return?”

“Return?” The alchemist repeated, his eyes darting wildly over Ling for anything, anything he could take for this stupid askance. There was almost nothing, except for, “Your ribbon.”

“Done.” Ling agreed as the alchemist’s hands moved to hover over his stomach. “Wait!”

Ling’s hands shot to his stomach to cover the cut.

“What?” He and Lan Fan asked, eerily in sync.

“That’s not what I want.” He breathed out, tilting his head skywards. “I’ll live, but the Chang heir is after me. I don’t want to kill her.”

“I… I don’t know how to help you, just let me heal you!” The alchemist denied, leaning over him. “We can work it out later, okay?”

Ling stubbornly shook his head.

“Mei Chang?” A new voice asked.

Ling turned his head to see Alphonse.

Lan Fan stiffened, but thankfully did not react poorly to the new addition. Ling would hate to insult the suit of armor.

“You know her?” The alchemist pressed, turning to him quickly.

“Yes, she’s the one who taught me Alkahestry.” Alphonse admitted, looking to Ling. “She’s trying to kill you?”

“Who isn’t,” Ling slurred. “Politics are like that.”

“I’ll speak to her for you. I’m sure we can work out a truce, Ling.”

“What would you want in return?”

“Nothing. Unlike some people,” Alphonse sent a heated glare to his brother. “I don’t make deals.”

The alchemist’s hands clenched into fists. “With that over, will you let me heal you?”

“Sure.” Ling laughed, taking his hand away from where it covered the wound.

“That’s bad,” the alchemist whispered, hardly audible, but definitely not reassuring as he started to heal him.

It was strange, seeing his skin knit back together, especially considering he still felt the effects of blood loss.

“Al, get him some water.”

“Oh, I don’t know, what do I get in return?” He asked sarcastically, already moving to retrieve it.

“Alphonse, please.”

Without another word, Al handed him the water. Ling was eager to take a drink, but the alchemist snatched it away and used it to wash the blood off first.

“Good, you’re good.” He sighed. “No internal damage, but it came close.”

“That’s good to hear.” Lan Fan winced, sitting down and gently taking Ling’s hand. “I apologize. I failed you, young lord.”

“I’m alive, aren’t I?” He grinned, taking a swig of water.

“That you are. Al, was it? The Chang girl, can you speak to her?” Lan Fan prompted, shifting her body to hover protectively over Ling’s as he valiantly attempted to drink laying down.

“As soon as I can.” Alphonse nodded grimly. “I can’t go into town, but she’ll occasionally meet me in the woods.”

“I wonder…” Ling stumbled over his next words, trying not to sound accusatory. “Does she know the alchemist is your brother?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Alphonse wilted, holding his head in one hand. “If she did, I can’t imagine she would attack you like this.”

“You should stay here a few days to recover.” The alchemist offered. “Or until Al can talk to Mei.”

“Wait, turn around.” Ling requested, forcing himself to sit up.

“Why?” The alchemist frowned, but followed his direction. He felt a slight tug on his hair before it was gone.

“There. You asked for my ribbon, right?”

Three days in the alchemist’s residence and he regretted calling it a hut. As it turned out, it was a misleading appearance. While in shambles on the outside, the inside was clean and dry. Ling almost wished he could stay.

The Chang girl radiated hate beside him.

“What happens if we take out all the others?” She asked, thankfully not reaching for a weapon.

Lan Fan’s own bladed arm twitched at her side.

“That depends!” Ling gestured to her cheerfully. “On you.”

“You’ll have to be more specific.” She retorted, a steady pout building on her lips.

“What are your plans, should you become empress?” Ling’s mouth was curved into a jovial grin, but his eyes were serious as he studied her.

“I’m going to help my clan.” Her cheeks puffed out, almost insulted he had to ask. “No one should live in poverty.”

“A fine idea,” he agreed. “I want to put a stop to these sibling blood sports and unite the clans.”

“That’s unrealistic.”

“Mhm, but is it an unrealistic idea that you could agree with?”

“If it was?”

“I swear, they’ve been talking to each other for twenty minutes now and haven’t even given one straightforward answer between the two of them.” The alchemist stage whispered to his brother. Immediately, Mei glared at him, and Ling was delighted to find that he wasn’t alone in invoking her animosity.

No, apparently she knew the alchemist was Alphonse’s brother, but she didn’t know he was the alchemist.

He was still cackling internally over that one.

“Then I think there’s two thrones.”

“I’m not marrying my half brother.” Mei gagged.

“That’s disgusting!” Ling protested. “As siblings! As siblings, you vile child!”

“Hey! I’m nearly as old as you!”

“Really? Because you look eight years old.”

“Twelve! I’m twelve, you idiot!” She scowled, banging her fists on the table.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you from down there.”

“That’s it!” Mei lunged, but thankfully Alphonse held her back.

“See! I’m not the only one!” The alchemist exclaimed, but about what, Ling had little idea.

“Mei,” Alphonse said, but Ling could practically hear the puppy eyes.

“One wrong step and our deal is off.” Mei threatened, sending a pointed glance to his stomach.

“Then, you agree?”

They shook hands over the table.

Ling had little reason to visit the alchemist these days, but often found himself following Mei under the guise of protection (not that the Hellion needed it) to meet Alphonse in hopes of seeing him.

“How do you plan on ending the competition for the throne?” Mei asked on one such walk.

“I’m telling you now, I’m not taking forty eight concubines.” Ling shuddered. “I’ll lead through example, of course.”

“Do you have someone in mind for a wife?” Mei sighed almost dreamily. “I really hope Alphonse likes me. Not that I’m planning to marry him! Still, though…”

Ling swallowed thickly, finding that he had plans for a wife at all. “No, but…”

Alphonse and the alchemist were such good friends, even though they were family. Maybe that’s how siblings should be.

“You should go for it. Alphonse seems kind and quite fond of you.”

“What! No, no, no!” Mei shook her head violently. “He should ask me out first!”

“How’s he supposed to know that?”

He was met with silent consideration.

“Urgh! Don’t do that!” Mei demanded, swatting his arm.

“Agh! A fatal wound!” Ling swooned, clutching at his wrist. “You’ve broken me, I’ll never be the same again. Is that… Is that the light everyone speaks of? Mother? It's been so long…” he finished his speech with a dramatic drop into the earth, kicking up dust around him.

“Get up or I’m leaving you.” She puffed, still half flushed from their earlier discussion.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” He protested, spotting Lan Fan in the trees. She was far away, but he could have sworn he saw her roll her eyes.

“Thanks.” Mei said and immediately punched him in the arm with no explanation.

“For?”

“Telling me to ask out Alphonse.”

“It went well, then!” He grinned, ruffling her hair. “I knew it. Should I give him the shovel talk?”

“If you do that, I’ll hit you with a shovel.” She threatened, pointing up at him from the ground. Secretly, Ling thought she looked healthier since she started eating with Ling and Lan Fan. It took her awhile to work up to their nutrient dense meals, but once she had she was even stronger than before.

“I’d be more fearful if you hadn’t already injured me.” Ling smirked. “Does he know you’re a monster? Are you really fooling him into believing you’re some sweet girl?”

“He hasn’t seen me in combat.” She sniffed. “But, if he underestimates me, I’ll kick his butt.”

“I have no doubt you will.” He really didn’t. Mei was a genius and while he and everyone else were arguably genius fighters as well, he wouldn’t bet against Mei after seeing her in action.

“Mei? Ling?” Lan Fan entered, a deep set frown on her face as she clutched a bone white scroll in her hand.

“What is it?” Ling asked, immediately on the defensive and assessing her body for wounds.

“The emperor has declared a tentative successor in his old age.” She answered, ducking her head. “The fifth in line, if I’m not mistaken.”

“We were supposed to have more time.” Mei’s pinched expression gave away her hurt, turning her head to hide the tears building in her eyes.

“The fifth has already been killed, returning the line of succession to the first.” Lan Fan shook her head. “It’s a bloodbath.”

“For what reason could he declare a successor now? To sew chaos in his last few months of life?” Ling paced around the room. “We’ll be slaughtered, one at a time.”

“As ninth in line, you’ll likely be targeted soon.” Mei confirmed, her lips set in a grim line. “I won’t go back on my word. For as long as you live, we’ll take the throne together.”

“How noble.” Ling smiled softly. “But I fear we’ll need more than honor to win.”

“Alchemist.” Ling entered the forest alone, stepping in the waiting snakes without fear. Alphonse waved hello to him, stepping away from his brother who sat in the clearing with a pointed look.

“Ling.” He sighed through his nose, though he turned to Ling with a smile. “What do you need?”

“A successor has been declared and our siblings are being quickly picked off.” He hesitated. “All I have to offer are the gloves you’ve made me.”

The alchemist stared at the clutched fabric and took it from his hands. “No magic can change your father’s mind.” He scowled. “I will track your siblings and… convince them to step down. I give you my word I won’t kill them, but I don’t want my own gloves in return.”

“What do you want?” Ling asked, feeling the soft weight returned to him.

The alchemist’s gaze drifted down from Ling’s dark stare to his lips before he forcefully shut his eyes.

“Two conditions, and you must agree to both while only knowing the first.”

“What is the first?”

“My brother’s body.”

“He… he hasn’t always been a suit of armor, I imagine?”

“Not at all,” he sighed. “But I’ve sworn to Al we’ll never go back. If you can climb the Tower of Truth and retrieve his body, then my brother can be restored.”

“What of the second condition? Will I know nothing of it at all?”

“Nothing,” the alchemist confirmed.

“I’ll take your deal. Where is this tower?”

“In the desert of Xerxes. It appears to all those that search for it.” The alchemist winced, casting his eyes downwards. “I know it's far and difficult, but I promise you I will remove your siblings in the meantime.”

“Don’t kill them.”

“I would never.” The alchemist sneered, almost offended. “Now go.”

Ling turned, but the alchemist’s voice stopped him.

“And be careful.”

The desert was hot and the journey grueling, no more so than when the tower appeared and in a haze of sand he lost Lan Fan.

He hoped to find her inside, but he never did.

The tower claimed it could only be climbed by ways of alchemy. To build your own staircase to the stars.

Ling’s dagger dug into the soft sides of the wall said otherwise.

He heaved himself over the lip of the tower into the next room. The circular room appeared made of mirrors and he was overwhelmed by the sinking feeling that he now understood why Alphonse didn’t want to come back.

In every mirror, he pinned a sibling to the ground. He shredded skin and bone and claimed a crown. He sacrificed many lives in the name of a greater good.

He stepped back, but the way down was no longer there.

“Selfish,” a mirror hissed. “Greedy.”

Ling personally thought that being greedy by taking responsibility for others’ lives was actually quite kind, but he didn’t dare tell the mirrors.

He picked a direction and walked.

His reflections had changed to himself, distorted by the mirror to appear at varying distances, so he walked directly into the glass multiple times. He closed his eyes to take a breath and found himself in a world of color.

Qi moved around him, a stain of red he recognized well from the alchemist and one beside him. Alphonse. There were dozens of other colors he couldn’t give names to, but they didn’t matter as he followed the alchemist’s trail through the maze.

“Killer.”

Ling froze, opening his eyes to see blood splatter on the walls around him.

Siblings he attacked in self defense. Family that hurt him.

That he hurt back.

He stared at his reflection, though he was no longer himself. He was the mirror of every sister and brother and family member he ever hated. Ever loathed for the blood that binds them to be at war with each other.

His mother, who had little choice in his birth. Every concubine who was chosen on a whim and left with a child who would be hunted for sport.

He gulped and turned away, focusing solely on the red he so associated with the man that sent him here.

He didn’t want to think of what would happen if he failed.

If this was dangerous. If the alchemist knew he would be in danger and that’s what colored his features with guilt.

If the alchemist cared that little for him.

If he was just a deal waiting to be made.

“Fool.” A voice whispered, one distinctly unlike his own, from inside his head.

This maze was more than an external torture.

He broke into a run.

The alchemist’s trail sent him crashing through a mirror, but he could hardly care as he was transported far away from that cursed maze, trying to shake his heavy thoughts from his head.

You know the name of this tower, a sign said. Speak it.

“Truth?” He said aloud, more confused than anything. “Tower of Truth?”

The sign didn’t change, nor did anything else.

“My hair is black.” He settled on the general meaning of truth rather than the word itself, but the sign didn’t budge. “I used to think alchemy and alkahestry were the same things.”

The sign reluctantly tacked on a few words, recognizing that Ling was dense.

Speak a truth you can’t admit.

Ling blinked, unimpressed.

“If I can’t admit it even to myself, how would I know what it is?”

The sign did not alter itself further and he sat down, deciding to think.

He closed his eyes, seeing how the alchemist’s trail twisted out of the room and further out. A truth he couldn’t admit.

When was the last time he felt truly uncomfortable with a conversation? Probably with Mei, she made him distinctly unsettled in general.

“I don’t want to be emperor.” He said, but nothing happened. Well, it was a lie, anyways. He may have had mixed thoughts on leadership, but he knew he needed it. “I don’t feel strong enough to protect all I love.”

Unbidden, the alchemist flashed through his mind.

“Oh,” he whispered. His voice came out quiet, marked more so by its echo than his own speech. “I love the alchemist.”

The door creaked open and he stood quickly, cursing the sadistic nature of this tower.

He was upset so greatly by this all because he was worried the alchemist didn’t care for him. He went into the unknown and continued now on his behalf. Not just because he asked or, rather, demanded as payment, but because his brother being returned to his body would make him happy.

He loved the alchemist and he didn’t even notice, though he was sure it started a long time ago.

He hurried through the halls, the alchemist’s qi letting him duck traps he wouldn’t have noticed otherwise, trusting his friend to lead him through this tower with his eyes firmly shut.

The top, he recognized, felt almost anti-climatic because of it.

A vague figure stood there, peering over the edge of a blond body preserved in resin.

“You carry a part of him with you.” The figure said, with no context. “Oh, I have so much of him already.”

It bared its teeth, picking up a severed arm and leg like decorations.

Ling bit back his own nausea.

“I’ve come for Alphonse’s body.”

“What will I need in return?” The figure muttered, looming over Al. “A heartache? A memory?” Its many hands reached out for him. “If you value none of those, a body for a body?”

Ling froze, staring into its blank face.

“You have a piece of him.” The body grinned with a mouth split perfectly from an invisible seen, dozens of eyes snapping open as it held out one hand. “Give me it.”

“What?”

“Give me the gloves.” It hissed. “No, give me his everything. The boy that would dare trick god.”

“If I give you these gloves, what will happen?” Ling inquired, his hands shaking as he grabbed the gold weaving gloves from his own pocket.

“Nothing.” The creature responded. “I just want to leave you with nothing of him.”

“You’re saying you’ll kill him?” Ling scowled, clutching the gloves close to his chest. “I won’t allow it.”

“He won’t die, not yet.” The thing rolled its head instead of its many eyes, rotating on its neck smoothly. “Often, though, those that are gone are dead to our hearts.”

“He won’t leave.” Ling responded confidently, presenting the gloves. A small price, after all.

“No,” the Truth promised, shaking his hand. “You will.”

The tower crumbled, Ling lunging for the suddenly uncovered body of Alphonse who woke with a start, pressing into Ling’s chest with a violent cough.

Encumbered, Ling hit many of the traps he missed before, hauling Alphonse with him as he made his way out much faster than he had gotten in.

He was met with the sound of a crushed roof not far behind him, and he barely stepped out of the tower before the floor collapsed into the sand, sinking into a whirlpool.

“Ling?” Al gasped, grabbing his shoulder with glassy eyes. “I’m…”

“Welcome back to the world of the living.”

“I’m so hungry.” Al whined.

“Something you have in common, then.” Lan Fan sighed, finally making her way to the two. “You had me worried. One moment you were in front of me, the next, gone.”

“You didn’t see the tower?”

“Not at all.”

Alphonse was fuming the entire trip back, complaining about how dangerous the tower (specifically, Truth) was.

Ling was more upset to think the things he heard were the truth at all.

He won’t leave you, it said.

They reached the forest and for once Ling didn’t know the path to avoid the snakes even if he wished it. They entered from the wrong direction to do so.

“Al!” The alchemist cried out, throwing himself at his brother. “I was so worried! You dropped completely, you were gone!”

Alphonse allowed a moment of comfort, rubbing his brother’s back before he hissed out. “You sent Ling to the tower?”

The man tensed. “... It worked out.” He let go and backed away, unwilling to meet Ling’s eye. “I took care of your siblings. They’ve all stepped down. You and Mei are first and second in line, respectively.”

“What is your second condition?” Ling blurted, still caught up by Truth’s deal, of his chilling words.

Whatever losing the gloves meant to him, it was somehow comparable to losing a body.

“The second condition.” The alchemist finally looked up, purposefully neutral. “Is that you must leave this forest and never come back to me.”

“I didn’t agree to that.” Ling clenched his hands into fists without thinking. “How could you ask that? After everything we’ve been through.”

“You did agree to my deal, and part of that was you did not know the second condition you agreed to.” The alchemist turned from him, Ling’s ribbon still fastened around the end of his braid. “I send you away now because of what I’ve asked. It's not your fault, I know, but I cannot in good conscience keep you close when all we do is alchemic dealings.”

He should have said something sooner, Ling thought. He should have dropped the pretenses of deals entirely and agreed to just be friends. He should have won the throne on his own…

But then Alphonse wouldn’t be in the flesh to stare, hurt, at his brother.

“You can’t mean that,” Alphonse shouted, still uncertain of his body’s new volume control. “You’re friends!”

“Friends don’t use each other to get ahead.” The alchemist shrugged.

“There must be another way. Tell me what I can do, tell me how I can come back.” Ling begged, stepping forward and turning the alchemist to face him.

Immediately, the man crumbled.

“I can’t change it, even if I wanted to. The deal’s already struck.”

“Make me a new deal.” Ling pushed, gripping his shoulders.

“You have nothing to give me.” The alchemist frowned, gripping Ling’s wrists, but not moving them.

“I have a reward for you,” he promised. “But the condition is you must agree to the deal without knowing its trade. I will only give you my side of the deal once it's over, for better or worse.”

“I…” The man blinked quickly, ripping Ling’s hands away from his body. “Three days. You have three days to guess my name, three guesses a day, without Alphonse’s help, or you’ll never see me again.”

“I’ll take it.”

“He only banned Al’s help? Idiot,” Winry said fondly, wiping her hands on a rag. “Edward. His name is Edward.”

“First and last name.” Edward sighed when Ling came to make his first guess.

“Oh.” Winry paused. “I don’t know his last name.”

“Edward Brock.”

“No.”

“Edward Sheeran.”

“Also no.”

“Edward Cullen.”

“That’s three. Come back tomorrow.”

This was Ling’s last day to guess Ed’s last name. He’d wasted the first one in his bravado of knowing his first name and his second on meaningless guesses.

Truth may have been right. He would leave Edward, by his own mistake, so caught up in his pursuit of being emperor that he neglected to clarify their friendship.

No, friendship was not the word Ling wanted between them.

He wanted to go to his hut in the woods without an excuse. He wanted to braid his own ribbon into Ed’s hair and add bracelets and rings to match the necklace he gave him.

He wanted to kiss the back of his neck when he helped him put it on.

No deals to be made between them.

Ling scoured records for hours on Edwards listed as having lived in the area, but all were already accounted for and most certainly didn’t live in the woods.

He would have to buy the jewelry instead of making it, he mused, bereft of his golden gloves. He supposed Edward was likely to take to the rings more. He seemed the kind to want to punch and split his opponent’s face open.

Something gold, inlaid with rubies.

“Come to make your final guesses?” The alchemist greeted him, snapping his book shut and standing at attention.

“I couldn’t find your name,” Ling admitted, ducking his head. “But I do have one guess.”

“Out with it, then.”

Ling met his eye, dropping to one knee. “Edward Yao.”

He sucked in a breath, watching as Ling opened a small black box with a gold band inside. He took one unsteady step forward and almost tripped into his companion.

“You don’t even know my last name.” Ed growled, despite his inspection of the object. Of its meaning.

Of Ling.

“I could.” Ling chuckled nervously. “I do like you, you know. I may not know your full name, but I know you have terribly tacky taste and a legendary temper and you care more for your brother than anything. I would enjoy having you by my side.”

“And if I don’t, I could always divorce you.”

“Hey!” Ling spluttered, offended by Ed’s rather realistic view of the situation.

“I like you, too, dipshit.” Ed sighed, kneeling with him and allowing Ling to slide the ring onto his finger. “I don’t have another ring for us to elope with.”

“Oh, as if you can’t make one.” Ling scoffed, poking his cheek.

With little thought, Ed dug a hand into the dirt and came back with a silver ring to match his own, with sapphires instead of rubies.

“Aren’t we supposed to have witnesses?” Ed frowned, sliding the ring onto Ling’s hand. “And a certificate, or something?”

“Does it matter?” Ling challenged. “As long as you agree your name is now Edward Yao, the magic shouldn’t differentiate between why that changed.”

“Then why couldn’t you just tell me to change my name?” Ed raised an eyebrow.

“Well, maybe I wanted to do this.” Ling clucked his tongue. “Can’t imagine why, considering how you’re reacting.”

“That reminds me, what was your contribution to the deal?” He questioned, leaning forwards. “I was curious.”

“Oh, it was this.”

Ling pressed a kiss to Edward Yao’s mouth and they both silently agreed, no more deals.


End file.
